


Help Me Hold On To You

by Antheas_Blackberry, Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/pseuds/Antheas_Blackberry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Anniversary plans are derailed and Mycroft is feeling less than forgiving. Greg worries that this relationship is heading down the same path as his previous ones. He really thought it would be different this time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For echo84 who gave generously and waited patiently. <3

* You’re going to kill me. –GL *

*Did you leave a wet towel on the bed again? –MH *

* I’m not making it to dinner. –GL *

Greg hit send and counted to ten. His mobile rang. “Yeah?” His voice was wary.

“You know I made these reservations a month ago.” Mycroft was incensed. 

“I know.”

“I rescheduled my trip to India.” 

“I tried, My, but Dimmock is home with flu and Gregson is out on another call.” Guilt was weighing heavily on Greg’s heart.

“I’ve delayed implementing three, no four, ‘initiatives’ so as not to be on call this evening.” Mycroft did not seem to be ready to let up.

“Okay! I get it! Jesus Christ, Mycroft. Can we not do this now? I’ve got a body waiting.”

“Forgive me for believing the living would take precedence over the dead.” The tone was so cold Greg felt the temperature drop in his car.

The phone line went dead. Greg sighed and rubbed his face. He knew this day would come. It always did at some point in his relationships. He’d hoped it would be different this time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft fought the urge to throw his mobile. A movement at the door caught his eye. “Well come in since you’re lurking,” he snapped.

Anthea entered, her face inscrutable.

“I don’t suppose you have a use for a reservation for two at The Ledbury?”

“I can certainly find a use for a reservation at The Ledbury.” Anthea replied calmly.

“Be there at seven pm, it’s under my name.” Mycroft waved his hand dismissing his PA.

She stood a moment and then decided to speak. “Mr. Holmes,” she began.

“Yes.” His gaze was focused on the papers laid out in careful stacks on his desk.

“Don’t leave it like that.” He didn’t answer and began reorganizing the documents and reports. Anthea sighed and left shutting the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greg shoved his mobile in his glove box before getting out of the car. He didn’t want the distraction of angry texts. He thought Mycroft understood that nights like this would happen. They hadn’t been… Dating? Partners? Or whatever, for very long, but he really thought Mycroft understood. Greg growled to himself and kicked his tire. Those thoughts, along with Mycroft, were going to have to wait. Everyone he needed to talk to were at the scene. Pushing aside his feelings of guilt and frustration and yes, he had to admit, fear, Greg made his way over to the marked off scene. 

He walked to the cordon and ducked under the tape. Sgt. Donovan was waiting for him and she gave him the low down on had been discovered so far. 

“Likely a drug deal gone wrong,” she remarked as they walked toward the site of the crime. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Greg admonished. His tone was brusque.

Donovan shrugged. She knew her boss didn’t want to be here. He’d had plans. But she didn’t have control over when people were murdered. “No, of course not,” she agreed. In silence they trudged down to the towpath where the body rested. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft dropped the folder he’d been holding. It had been open in front of his face but he wouldn’t say he’d been reading it. That would have been an exaggeration of the highest order. He briefly rubbed his temples and then rested his chin on his fisted hands. 

Now that his ire had cooled, he felt guilty about the way he’d treated Greg. He knew Greg wasn’t at fault. They both had made an effort to be available. It was dumb luck Greg’s efforts were unsuccessful. Mycroft knew it could have easily gone the other way, with him being called to an emergency meeting. 

Mycroft picked up his mobile and placed a call. He was a bit disconcerted when it went straight to voicemail. 

“Ah… Hello Gregory. It’s Mycroft. I’m calling… to apologize. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you. I am disappointed, but it’s only dinner. We can make reservations again another time. Perhaps we should take a long weekend and have what I believe is called a ‘staycation’ and… Well, I want you to know I love you and… Be safe… please.”

Mycroft hung up and, despite feeling like a babbling fool, he also felt a little better. Maybe he could get some work done now, he thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greg squatted near the body as it lay on the edge of the towpath near the canal. He stood and sighed. It was hard finding the body of a young person. The desolation such a death left was deep and wide. 

It was dark and the only light was from their flashlights and the moon. Greg looked up the path. “What’s taking SOCO so long?” He felt irritable and impatient. The argument with Mycroft was still weighing on his mind.

“Bringing flood lamps in so they can see to process the scene,” Sgt. Donovan explained. 

“Right,” Greg grumbled and circled around to the other side of the body.

Sgt. Donovan watched nervously. “Careful boss, there’s…”

“Ow!” Greg stubbed his toe. 

“Moorings.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

The sound of people coming down the path caused them both to look over. “It’s about time,” Donovan called out and walked up the path. 

Greg continued to study the lay of the land. “Hey, what do you make of this?”

Sgt. Donovan came over and Greg took a step back only to trip over the mooring. His arms waved as he lost his footing. “Shit!” Donovan reached for her boss but just missed catching his arm. Greg tipped over, landing with a splash in the canal. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft had been partially successful in getting some work done after he left Gregory a voicemail message. However, as time passed he began to fret that he hadn’t gotten a text or a call back. Finally he gave up and went home.

He opened the refrigerator door and stared into the empty space. He closed it and studied the takeaway menus on the door with a frown. Sighing, he opened the freezer and took out a pint of ice cream. He rationalized it was one of those high protein, low carb “ice cream” products as he got a spoon out of the drawer. Not bothering to get a dish or sit down, he began to eat. 

He was still feeling unsettled from the row with Gregory. The lack of response to his voicemail contributed to his feeling of disquiet. He’d no idea when to expect Gregory and that wasn’t unusual in this situation. Still he wondered if he should check the CCTV. It wouldn’t take much effort to find out where the crime scene was. Then it would be only a few clicks on the laptop to access the nearest CCTV camera. He put the ice cream down and went to get his computer. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No.”

“Boss…”

“I said no.” Greg glared mulishly at Donovan from his perch on the back of the ambulance. He was wrapped in a shock blanket and shivering in the chill of the night.

“Just go get checked out. I can manage this.” She gestured in the direction of the cordon. “I’ve seen you do it enough times.”

“I don’t need to go to A&E. I’m perfectly…. Ahhh!” 

The EMT kneeling at his feet looked up. “A bit pinchy that?” He held Greg’s left ankle in his hands and palpated again.

“Fuck! Stop that! That fucking hurts.” Greg woozily shook his head trying to clear the stars dancing in his field of vision.

“Mate, I’d say it’s broken, but you’d need to go to A&E for x-rays to know for sure.” The EMT began to carefully remove Greg’s shoe. 

Greg’s sergeant raised her eyebrows. Greg sighed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feeling a bit nauseated and lightheaded after his trip to radiology, Greg was wheeled away to await the results of the x-rays. The orderly chattered away reassuring Greg they’d have the results shortly and the doctor would be in to see him soon. Both were a bit taken aback by the tall man with the imposing glare that greeted them as they entered A&E room.

“Oh, sorry. I was told to bring him here. I guess there was a mix up.” The orderly apologized and began to back up.

“No, mate, we’re in the right room. This is my partner.” Greg eyed Mycroft noting the fury in his partner’s eyes and rigid posture.

“Ah, well, that’s okay then.” The orderly smiled at Mycroft. Who returned the smile with one of his better fake smiles and then returned to glaring at Greg. The orderly quickly helped Greg onto the bed and settled him with the call light before escaping the tense atmosphere.

Greg looked at Mycroft warily. “So, how did you find me?” Sweat had started to glisten along his forehead and upper lip.

“Well, it wasn’t because you or any of your underlings called me.” Mycroft snapped.

“CCTV, then.”

Mycroft didn’t deign to respond. He simply stared balefully at Greg.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” Greg offered. “I was working.” Still getting nothing but silence Greg tried again. “I put my mobile in the glove box and went to the scene, otherwise I would have called you when this happened.” He paused. “Or maybe not because then my mobile would be in the canal.” 

“And does Sgt. Donovan not have a mobile? Or any of your constables? A radio message to dispatch that could have been relayed to me was too difficult?”

Mycroft had a point Greg realized. “What can I say? I’m not used to having someone who cares when I get home.”

“I despair you ever will.”

Greg shifted uncomfortably in the bed. His ankle sent a sharp pain shooting up his leg making him gasp. He could feel the blood drain from his head and he lay back, swallowing down the bile that filled his throat.

Concern flooded Mycroft’s face. He went to Greg’s side. “Are you okay?”

“S’hurts.” Greg grunted.

Mycroft felt all his irritation dissipate at the sight of Greg’s grey face. “Can I get you anything?” He hovered close by.

“A bucket.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a cautious tap at the door and Anthea stuck her head in. Greg was wearing a hospital gown and asleep on the bed. His left leg, casted, was sticking out from under the sheet propped on a pillow. Mycroft sat in a chair nearby, looking weary and worried. Anthea slipped inside as Mycroft gestured for her to be silent. She handed him a bag and looked over at Greg.

“How is he?” she whispered.

“Broken left ankle and strained right shoulder. No concussion symptoms. We’ll have to wait and see if he develops an upper respiratory infection. They’ve inoculated him against certain pathogens and prescribed a course of antibiotics and pain pills.” Mycroft spoke softly. He checked the bag and then pulled out a pair of socks and shoes.

Anthea nodded at her boss’s bare feet. “What happened to your shoes and socks?”

“Let’s just say DI Lestrade’s tolerance to pain isn’t up to MI6 standards.” Mycroft began to put the new pair on.

Anthea winced. “Need me to take them to be cleaned?”

“Would you please?” Mycroft handed her a plastic biomedical waste bag that sat nearby. “Standard hazard pay?”

“Seeing how they’re already bagged? Yes.” They exchanged a brief smile. Mycroft looked away first to gaze at his partner, sleeping peacefully. She could see the worry lines forming around his eyes and mouth. “Anything else I can do? I have Jason coming to drive you home. Sgt. Donovan has returned the Inspector’s car.”

“No, thank you. I’ll have the staff here help me get him dressed. The pain medication has made him quite drowsy.”

Anthea nodded. “Working from home tomorrow?”

“Better plan for the week,” Mycroft sighed. “We’ll need to see the orthopedist in a day or two.”

“I’ll arrange it.” She promised.

“Thank you. Hopefully they can put a different cast on him.” Anthea turned to go when Mycroft spoke again. “I apologize for interrupting your dinner at The Ledbury.”

She smiled. “Oh, it wasn’t me that took the reservation. I gave it to Lady Smallwood’s PA. He’s been trying to impress a young lady attached to the Home Office.” 

“Oh very wise, stockpiling favors and forging connections.”

“Learned from the best.” She winked and slipped out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg woke the next morning feeling hung over and confused. He wasn’t in his own bed and it took him a few moments to realize he was in the downstairs bedroom. Alone. Every muscle in his body ached and his left leg felt heavy. He started to sit up, but cried out instead as pain shot through his right shoulder and down his arm. Panting, he lay still as the events of last night came filtering back. 

The door cracked open, Mycroft slid into the room, his hair mussed from sleep and belting his robe as he entered. “Gregory? Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Greg muttered. The achiness in his body consolidated in his chest as he processed Mycroft had relegated him to the guest room. 

“Do you need something?”

Greg stared at the ceiling feeling helpless and fragile. “I can’t seem to sit up.”

“Let me help.” Mycroft moved to the bedside and leaned in close, wrapping his long arms around Greg’s torso. Greg took a deep breath taking comfort in Mycroft’s scent as he braced for more pain. With great gentleness Mycroft easily lifted Greg up into a sitting position and pushed pillows behind the man to help support him.

“Thanks.” Greg mumbled.

“Certainly.” Mycroft stayed close. “I imagine your pain medication has worn off. Would you like some paracetamol until we can get something in your stomach?”

Greg didn’t want Mycroft to leave, but he knew he needed something. “Yeah, okay.” 

Mycroft left the room. Greg sat quietly and took stock of his injuries. His right arm, no shoulder, throbbed. His neck and back felt stiff. His left arm and shoulder seemed okay. His right leg felt okay as well, but his left leg felt heavy. Broken and casted, he remembered. He also remembered something else. Greg groaned with embarrassment.

“Hang on. I’m coming.” Mycroft re entered the room carrying a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol.

“Oh Christ.” Greg stared at Mycroft, eyes full of apology. “Tell me I didn’t puke on your shoes.”

Mycroft pursed his lips. “I could tell you that.” He handed Greg a couple of tablets and then water. Greg swallowed them down. “But that would be a lie.”

Greg groaned. “No wonder you stuck me in the guest room.” He couldn’t look at his partner. Clutching the duvet, Greg felt his world was collapsing.

Mycroft took the water glass from Greg and set it aside. “You were quite incapacitated what with your injuries and the amount of morphine you were given in order to set your ankle.” Mycroft sat carefully on the edge of the bed. He stilled Greg’s fidgeting fingers with a hand. “Is something bothering you?”

Greg watched as long, elegant fingers gripped his more sturdy, workman-like ones. 

“Gregory?”

Greg looked up from where he’d been worrying the duvet cover. “Last night you were furious.” Greg’s dark eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

“I was exceedingly angry.” Mycroft allowed. “But--”

“And you had every right to be. We had plans and I just tossed them aside.” Greg didn’t seem to be listening. “I’ve never been good at making my loved ones a priority. I’m lousy at it to be honest.”

“I understand--” Mycroft was interrupted again.

“You shouldn’t have to watch CCTV to check on me, like you do Sherlock. I should have called you, or had one of my team call you, when I headed to the A&E.”

Mycroft squeezed Greg’s hand tightly. “That would’ve been appreciated.”

“To cap it off I ruined your shoes! Please tell me they weren’t your posh handmade Italian ones?”

“No…”

“So I get why I’m here, in the guest room… alone.” Greg gulped holding back the sobs threatening to burst forth. “I wouldn’t blame you if… I mean, if you don’t…” He could feel his emotions running wild, probably compounded by the pain and the morphine hangover, but he was so terribly afraid that Mycroft wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand what you are trying to say.” He looked bewildered. “You’re in the guest bedroom because I couldn’t get you up the stairs to our room. I didn’t sleep in here with you because I didn’t want to accidentally hurt you in the night. Instead, I stayed on the sofa down here so I could hear you if you called out.”

Greg shook his head in disbelief. “Just please be straight with me.”

“About what?”

Greg closed his eyes and a tear leaked down his face. “Why are you making me say it?”

“Because I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about and you’re scaring me.” Mycroft’s voice had gone up an octave.

Greg opened his eyes to see Mycroft appeared genuinely confused. “Are we through?” He blurted.

“What? Dear God in heaven, why would you say that?”

“Because I missed our anniversary dinner, fell in the canal and then puked on your shoes.” 

“No, most emphatically no! Are you febrile?” Mycroft laid the back of his hand across Greg’s brow. “The doctor said an upper respiratory infection could occur.”

“I’m not feverish. I know I’ve disappointed you, but I promise to do better. Please don’t kick me out.”

“Kick you out?” Mycroft repeated disbelieving his ears. “I just bought a washer and dryer for you.”

“I’ll never puke on your shoes again…” Greg trailed off. It was his turn to stare at his partner in disbelief. “Hang on. A washer and dryer?”

“I know it’s not a romantic gift, but you fretted so much about sending your socks and pants to the cleaners. So, I thought it’d be a nice anniversary present particularly since we just started living together.” Mycroft looked abashed. “I probably should have gotten you cufflinks.”

“No, I’ll love the washer and dryer. Appliances are forever.” Greg pulled Mycroft’s hand to his lips and kissed it. The ache in his chest dissipated. He felt like he could breathe finally. “So my apology is accepted?” His voice quavered hopefully.

“Your apology is accepted. Now will you accept mine?” Greg nodded with a sniffle. Mycroft continued. “I was needlessly harsh last night. I do understand why you had to cancel.” Mycroft caressed Greg’s cheek, brushing away a tear. “I left a message on your voicemail apologizing, but I realize you haven’t heard it yet.”

“You apologized and I have a recording of it?” Greg grinned with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“Oh shut up.” Mycroft grumbled, but Greg could tell his lover was not put out. 

Greg tugged Mycroft toward him. “C’mere.” He lifted his face to gently kiss Mycroft’s lips. 

Cautious of his partner’s injuries Mycroft pressed forward, tentatively returning the kiss. They parted and Greg sighed. “Think you’ll be free in about six weeks? I’d like to make a date for some fabulous make up sex.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I’ll have Anthea pencil you in.” 

They kissed again. Slowly, enjoying each delicate nibble and gentle lick. Carefully Mycroft joined Greg in the bed cuddling the man close. Greg gratefully nuzzled his face against Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft kissed the top of Greg’s head. 

“Tell me, my dear, what did you get me for our anniversary?” Mycroft was curious.

Greg tilted his head to gaze up at his lover. The cheeky gleam in Greg’s eyes told Mycroft his partner was feeling reassured. “Cufflinks. But they’re going back so I can get you a fancy four slot, gold plated toaster.”

“Beast.” Mycroft murmured fondly. “Don’t you dare.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Three days later..._

“Beep, beep!” Greg rolled through the kitchen and around the table before sailing out the door into the rest of the house. 

Mycroft stood at the counter prepping their afternoon tea. He missed Greg’s cooking. Three days of carryout and he was desperate for a home cooked meal. Soup and sandwiches were about all he could manage.

“This is grand!” Greg called out from the other room. 

“Tea’s ready.” Mycroft replied setting dishes on the table. His head ached and he sniffed as he rubbed his temples. 

Greg returned to the kitchen at a more sedate speed. “This knee walker is perfect.” He enthused. “Look I can even help.” He picked up the cutlery and put it in his basket. He rolled over to the table and finished setting their places.

“That’s wonderful.” Mycroft set the soup and sandwiches on the table. 

Greg settled himself in a chair and propped his broken ankle on the pad of the walker. “Maybe I can go back to work tomorrow. Not that I’m looking forward to six weeks of desk duty.”

“Yes, well, as lovely as that device is, you’re not taking it out to crime scenes.”

“Yes, love.”

Mycroft sniffed again. The hot soup felt good on his throat. Greg was making short work of his meal. Mycroft looked at his sandwich and felt his stomach rebel. “Would you like my sandwich? I’m finding the soup is quite enough for my appetite.”

“Sure.” Greg reached over and took the sandwich. “Not hungry, love?”

“No, not particularly.” Mycroft felt his sinuses prickle and tingle. He snatched his napkin to his face and sneezed. 

“Bless you. Bless you. And… Bless you.” Greg offered.

“Pardon me.” Mycroft blew his nose. Mycroft could feel Greg studying him. 

“You look a bit peaky and your nose is all red.” Greg noted. “Have you come down with cold?”

“Yes, I fear I have.” Mycroft gave his nose a final swipe. He carefully set the used napkin in his bowl and pushed it aside. 

“Probably from stress and wearing yourself out looking after me.” Greg handed Mycroft a fresh napkin.

“I’m quite used to stress.” Mycroft muttered.

The worn out bit Mycroft privately agreed with. He missed their bed with Greg beside him. Their older home wasn’t accommodating to the wheelchair that was sent over. Greg’s dodgy shoulder made using crutches impossible. Mycroft had ended up having to half carry Greg most places. So they stayed on the first floor with Mycroft running up and down the stairs for whatever was needed.

He coughed to clear his throat. “I suspect it was spending over 6 hours in A&E.” 

“Still my fault then.”

Mycroft turned anxious eyes on Greg. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know love.” Greg reached over and stroked Mycroft’s cheek, surreptitiously checking for a fever. “I’ll tidy up, yeah?”

“How are you going to manage clearing up?” Mycroft protested.

“I’ve got Silver now.” Greg gestured to the knee walker.

“Oh good Lord. You’ve named it?”

Of course, it’s my trusty steed.” Greg grinned broadly.

Mycroft shook his head disbelieving. “You’re a ridiculous man.”

“Yes, but I’m your ridiculous man. Go get comfy on the sofa and take our mugs with you. I’ll be in soon.” Mycroft watched Greg gather the dishes and stack them carefully in the basket of the walker. He wheeled himself and the dishes to the sink. Greg looked back at Mycroft. “Go on now. You see I’m not helpless anymore.” Mycroft held up his hands and departed.

Mycroft shifted the coffee table over to make room for Greg’s ‘trusty steed’ and settled on the couch. He pulled the throw over his lap and turned on the radio. Now that he stopped to rest Mycroft realized he was utterly exhausted. The drone of the radio program lulled him into a light doze. He woke some time later to find Greg at the other end of the sofa. He’d pulled Mycroft’s legs up and into his lap and was now reading The Police Journal. His broken ankle rested on Silver.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Greg’s voice was gentle and fond. 

Mycroft coughed and sat up. “Apologies. I dozed off. Do you need anything?” He frowned at the sound of his voice. It was gruff and hoarse.

“Nope. I’m good.” Greg was smiling. “You need anything?”

Mycroft looked about finding a fresh box of tissues, a selection of medications, and a glass of ice water sitting on the table nearby. “No, I suppose not.” 

Greg gestured for Mycroft to come over for a cuddle. Deciding first to take a cold tablet and a drink, Mycroft then snuggled against Greg’s warm chest. Greg arranged the throw over them both. “Tomorrow, I’m taking care of you.” Greg murmured, pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s crown.

“I thought you were going back to work.” Mycroft mumbled with a sniff. The thump of Greg’s heart was soothing.

“I think another day getting used to my new wheels would be best.” Greg shifted slightly and settled his ankle a little more comfortably.

Mycroft sniffled and nodded. Greg handed him a tissue. 

“When my ankle is healed we’re taking a weekend off.” Greg continued, “We’ll go to the Lake district or to the coast.”

“Or a staycation?”

“You know what a staycation is?” Greg sounded amused and mildly surprised. Mycroft nodded. “Alright, a staycation then.” Greg agreed. 

“Will you make a roast? With the little potatoes?” Mycroft asked hopefully.

“Of course, love.” Greg gave Mycroft a squeeze. 

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes. Relinquishing the caregiver role was such a relief, even if it was only temporary. Mycroft’s breathing slowed to a quiet snuffle. 

“Wherever you want love, whenever you want love,” Mycroft heard Greg rumble as he drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_ Six weeks later… _

Greg collapsed against the headboard, slightly out of breath. A sheen of sweat covered his brow and chest. He turned to Mycroft who was in a similar situation; he reached out for him and pulled him close.

“Worth the wait?” Greg teased.

Mycroft huffed out a soft chuckle. “I daresay.”

It was Greg’s turn to laugh, shaking with the outpouring of emotion. He pressed a soft kiss on to the back of Mycroft’s sex-mussed hair.

Mycroft smiled. “I’ve missed this, my dear.”

“Me too.” Greg murmured. “You’ve been a trooper. Fetching and carrying and generally putting up with me.”

“You’d have done the same for me.” Mycroft demurred. 

“Well, this weekend is all about pampering  _ you _ .” Greg declared. “First on the list is a bubble bath.” He gently disengaged and started to get out of bed. 

Mycroft sat up, intently watching Greg as he began to walk. He frowned at the slight limp. “Is it...”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just a bit stiff. Now relax.” Greg waved at Mycroft to lie back down and disappeared into the en suite. 

Mycroft sat there for a moment, but six weeks of being constantly busy made it difficult to just stay put. He got up and stripped the sheets from the bed planning to put them into the washer. The washer he’d had no intention of ever learning to use. The recent situation though had made him very grateful to have purchased the appliance.

“What are you doing?”

Mycroft turned to see Greg smiling fondly as he stood in the doorway to the en suite. “I was going to…” 

“No you’re not.” Greg came over and relieved Mycroft of his bundle. “I’ll put these in when we’re done.” He kissed Mycroft briefly. “C’mon, water’s about ready.” 

Greg lead Mycroft into the bathroom and helped him into the tub. He settled in behind Mycroft to massage his lover's back and neck.

“That feels heavenly,” Mycroft groaned as Greg worked on a particularly tight spot. 

“All the lifting and carrying you’ve had to do, it’s a wonder you didn’t throw out your back.”

“Yoga,” Mycroft murmured. “I’ve tried to tell you.”

“Yes, dear.” Greg kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck. His hair was soft and slightly damp, curling at the nape from the humidity of the rising steam from the tub. Greg gave the curls another nuzzle and resumed gently working out the stress and tension from Mycrof’s muscles.

Mycroft relaxed into Greg’s warm touch enjoying the attention. 

“You’re still making a roast today?” Mycroft inquired hopefully a few minutes later.

“Yeh, I have it prepped and waiting in the fridge.” Greg began to gently wash Mycroft’s back and then down his arms. “And I have plenty of little potatoes to roast along with the meat.” 

Mycroft sighed happily. “I have to confess I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” 

Greg chuckled. “Well, I’ve been looking forward to making you a roast dinner for over a month. You deserve it for putting up with my grumpy, miserable self.”

“You weren’t grumpy.” Greg stopped washing Mycroft’s upper back and leaned around to look at Mycroft, eyebrows raised. “Well, no more than expected.” Mycroft amended with a smile.

Greg returned to his ministrations. “You’ve been so good to me, love.”

“Except for those few days when I was unwell.” Mycroft qualified.

“Even then.” Greg said stubbornly. “Stuffed full of cold you were still patient and caring.”

Mycroft rolled over to face Greg and lie in his arms. The warm soapy water cradled them. Mycroft gazed up at Greg enjoying the lack of pain lines around the mouth and dark circles under the eyes. “It’s hard to see someone you love in pain and struggling,” he observed.”I’d do it all again without question, but I’d never want to.”

Greg sighed. “I know, love. It’s been tough.” He stretched out his previously casted leg with a faint wince.

“How does it feel?” Mycroft asked carefully. Mycroft had learned Greg wasn’t one to enjoy fussing and frequent queries would be met with snarls. The last thing Mycroft wanted was to cause an argument in the midst of their post-coital bliss. 

“A bit weird after being casted and all.” He flexed his calf and wiggled his toes as proof that there was no lasting soreness.

Mycroft nodded. “The physical therapy will see that any muscle imbalances are addressed,” he stated.

  
“I think I have all the physical therapy I need right here,” Greg said with a wink. He pulled Mycroft closer intent on getting very physical  _ indeed _ . 


End file.
